The Best Medicine
by snarechan
Summary: Duelists of the Roses Verse. Yami’s second-in-command finds himself under the weather.


The Best Medicine

By Snare-chan

**Pairings**: Bakura/Yami  
**Ratings**: T  
**Category(ies)**: General  
**Warning(s)**: If you're grossed out by bugs, I'd probably avoid this  
**Status**: One-shot, complete  
**Summary**: (Duelists of the Roses Verse) Yami's second-in-command finds himself under the weather.

**Notes**: I hereby dedicate this story to everyone who has ever enjoyed my shenanigans into the DotR world: to the kind reviewers who have let me know their thoughts, the lurkers who enjoy it in private, and the readers of these stories in the future. I wrote this as a thank you, to all of those listed, because you deserve it for making this writer feel loved and encouraging me to keep going. You're the best!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own YuGiOh! Duelists of the Roses; wish I did like everybody else. They should put YGO: DotR in stock, then I'd buy it all!

* * *

The walls of the Tudor castle were its first line of defense against an invasion, with several-foot thick stone and mortar infused with ancient masonry enchantments that could stave off some of the strongest, direct assaults. As a secondary defense, the interior of the castle could be booby trapped at a moment's notice and was automatically spellbound to detect and deter unwanted guests.

A last stand, were it forced to that, would take place in the sub levels. Underground were multiple floors made up of winding hallways, staircases and rooms. Those who did not live within the castle or were not familiar with the territory would be surprised to find dead ends, empty rooms seemingly devoid of purpose, or pitfalls that descended sharply and appeared so suddenly that a stumble into one could be the last thing someone did.

The upper parts – or the floors that were broached initially – were safe housing for castle staff and quarters for the soldiers, along with some storage. But the further down an individual went, the more treacherous it became.

Physically, the foundation of a castle was its main support – without it, it became unstable and toppled over. It was also the source of magic, the hub of all the hexes, protection charms, and other forces designed to protect the royal family and all else who inhabited the structure. His father at one time told him a few of the earliest Duel Monster cards were buried in the soil or placed in the very blocks this castle was built on, endowing it with ancient power.

At the lowest level was said to have at one time been a dungeon, and that was where Yami tread. He didn't travel here often; in fact, he'd only visited this far on all of three separate occasions, and two of them he would not speak to anyone about. This time was for personal reasons: namely, a visitation.

Unobstructed, he walked along a length of stairs and down a straight corridor that led to an old, thick wooden door. Most would not have exhibited such precision and calm, but most weren't the master of this castle and wouldn't have been treated so kindly. Harboring a mind of its own, the castle knew who to obey and when to behave.

Stopping before the single entrance, he examined it for any magic, and wasn't surprised to find it laced with a ward. He knew what to look for, and it stood out like a purple, smoky film coating the area. Slowly, he curled the fingers of one hand around its handle so that it rested directly in his palm. The hardware was _frigid_, almost cold enough to fuse his hand to it. But he ignored the chill, closing his eyes and leaning forward until his cheek pressed against the surface of the door.

He laid his free hand flat and trailed along the seams, searching. There was a thin thread-like presence, and he followed it until halfway to the top on the handle side, where he found a pea-sized bundle of energy. Shifting to one finger, he placed it directly over the ball and moved it down to the lock. It clicked open and a card slipped out. Picking it up along the way, he opened the door and went inside.

He was at once met with a forest. Trees of enormous size – some very unfamiliar in shape and origin – grew into the ceiling, and brightly colored flowers and what looked like weeds sprouted out of the floor. There was a distinct lack of natural light down here, much less enough water, earth, or other means of keeping them alive, and yet they thrived as if in their perfect environment. Yami saw through the ruse, and motioned with his hand, as if indicating for someone to step aside.

"Let me pass, please."

The air grew heavy, and a dense feeling flitted through the room. Some of the plants, in a blatant act of refusal, grew taller and shifted closer together, and a half rose, half woman monster by the name of Arlownay hissed at him. They didn't make a purposeful move towards him in warning, but he got the message nonetheless, noticing how the room had visibly shrunk in size due to the increased mass of foliage.

"Don't be stubborn. I asked nicely," he admonished, taking a deliberate step forward.

After a moment, the plants complied, sulking to one side like miffed children as they opened up a path for him to go. A couple of roots scuttled under his feet, not quick enough to get out of the way, though once or twice he was sure they were intended to trip him. He made it to the opposite side otherwise unscathed, the woods snapping shut behind him and a couple of branches almost catching at his cape. Yami never bothered with a reprimand.

There were living accommodations back here, coexisting with a lab. Tables and cabinets were set up with jars, bowls, and vials filled with powders, rare stones, thick-looking liquids and, in one case, what seemed to be fish bones. He knew better than to touch any of this, not knowing what was safe or deadly, and with little intent on finding out. Joseph Wheeler, an ally of his, might have been foolish enough to investigate, and this fact amused him slightly as he envisioned the other mistakenly turning himself into a frog.

Sidestepping the lot of it, he headed for the back wall, where a bed was squeezed between bookshelves. More specifically, he was checking on _who_ was in the bed, their entire body (save for some white tufts of hair peeking out at the top) swathed in several layers of quilts.

"Bakura?" he asked softly, not wanting to startle the other if he was sleeping, and stood next to it. When he received no response, he was about to reach over and gently shake him by the shoulder, but a flash of purple and green had him starting away.

An Abyss Flower, one of Bakura's favorite monsters, had been hiding in the shadows created by the bed frame and the wall, and it struck out at him when he was within range. Its ghastly smile, wicked and wide already, stretched to its limits as it aimed to remove Yami of his hand, and it might have been successful had Bakura not decided just then to reach up and snag it by the stem, effectively choking it. The Abyss Flower gagged, still somehow managing to gnash its sharp teeth in Yami's direction, and was thrown against the wall. Sliding down the surface, the creature disappeared under the bed with hardly a whimper, and in the stillness that followed Bakura gradually sat up.

The blankets fell to his lap to reveal the disheveled knight, though unbelievably he wasn't in his armor. Yami now noticed it on a mannequin in the corner, polished with every piece in its proper place. It was strange to see the other without it on, the red metal more than a second skin to Bakura. He wore it so often that it might as well _be_ him. No one had seen him without it adorning his body for a time longer than they could recall, save for the few times he had to remove his gloves or a broken piece that needed repairs.

Yami wouldn't make the mistake of considering Bakura normal-looking without it, however, because as he'd just demonstrated, even without it protecting him and half asleep, the knight was capable of great feats that no normal human being would be qualified to accomplish. Despite the Abyss Flower being under his control, it was still a _monster_ – dangerous, unpredictable – and he had dealt with it barehanded and with little effort.

Recognition was slow coming to the other's eyes, Bakura seemingly disorientated, and he grunted towards Yami when he realized it was him. He straightened his back and squared his shoulders, saying in a hoarse voice, "I didn't think I'd see you here."

"And I didn't think I'd live to see the day you were late. For _anything_," Yami responded in kind, removing a satchel from his hip and holding it out for Bakura to take. Inside were marmalades and bread, along with some sprigs of tea leaves.

"I have skipped breakfast before; it's not _that_ uncommon," Bakura pointed out, ignoring the sauces and going straight for the bread. He tore into the loaf with his teeth. "Training is hard work."

"It's the afternoon."

That was apparently news to Bakura, because it surprised and made him pause in his eating to regard the other, as if he'd grown two dragon heads to sit alongside his human one. He resumed consuming his meal a second later, shrugging wordlessly.

"And I asked your men if they'd seen you this morning, to which they said they hadn't. That's highly unlike you."

Before he could form a response around the food in his mouth, Yami reached out a hand to feel his face. The other balked at the gesture and tried to flinch away, but the prince persisted and placed his fingertips just above his brow. There was a lot of perspiration, and he was hot to the touch. This confirmed his suspicions.

"You're warm."

"So go inform the duke T. Tristan Grey that I'm not as cold-blooded as he'd assumed," Bakura snapped.

Tsking, Yami grabbed the bundles of tea leaves and set about finding a stove with some wood to start a fire and a teapot to boil water in.

"Top shelf to your left," Bakura instructed, shifting as if to get up and do it himself. "And don't touch the blue box."

"I've got it," he said hastily, and reached for the tiny kettle situated partially above an enormous desk on a rickety piece of wood staked into the wall.

The object was narrowly out of reach and he contemplated forgoing his dignity and crawling across the desk when suddenly the pot moved of its own accord, sliding down the shelf towards his extended fingers. Snapping his hand away, Yami turned to glare at the knight in accusation. In his sick condition, he shouldn't exert himself with parlor tricks.

"Don't look at me like that! Blame your great, great, great Aunt Miho; she's the culprit," Bakura said, indignant. "She haunts these parts and has a penchant for being exuberantly helpful."

Yami recoiled, unaware that a spirit was present, much less a relative of his. His powers did not extend to such mediums, but it made sense that his second-in-command could. His people were renowned and feared for their gifts.

Sadly, it was also why he was the last.

"What is she doing here?" the prince asked, tentatively taking the teapot and setting up a fire to begin the process. Some clean water from a flask by the stove was used to fill the pot and set it to boil.

"It is my understanding that ghosts tend to congregate towards their familiars – they're drawn to those that reflect a lifestyle that mimics their past. As a warrior herself, I assume she senses that within me, and has come to dwell here."

"So she likes you," Yami summarized, delighted by the news.

His mother, who related him to this deceased aunt, had told him stories about her. She was a peculiar one – a woman _knight_, of all things, though often she was widely recognized for her romanticism. Miho had been a bit clumsy and obstinate, but quick with a sword and quicker with her heart. If she approved of someone, then chances were they could be trusted.

Bakura snorted as he said, "Perhaps a little too much at times, but she can be good company. The dead can't coddle."

He pointedly looked at Yami as he said that.

"I'm your prince, and I'll do as I please, 'coddling' included. Have you been to a doctor?"

The other openly sneered, a sharp canine flashing like a displeased dog would exhibit when threatened. He was not fond of healers, convinced that they wasted their talents summoning monsters to do their work for them or concocting remedies with effects worse than the illness or wound itself.

"No, I have not, nor shall I. I'm healthy as a horse, for starters, and the doctor here has expressed that I am never to see him again – a request I am inclined to follow."

"You did threaten to disembowel him," Yami scolded, recalling the distraught doctor coming to him in a terrified rage and reporting on the incident, "demon" and "threat to the people" among his choice words describing how terrible the meeting had gone. "You really should apologize to him for that. He was simply doing his duty."

"He is a disgrace to his practice and a rat of a man. I'll apologize only when he decides to gather his wits about him."

Yami shook his head, but dropped the subject. If Bakura was capable of being insulting, then he couldn't be too sick. He instead concentrated on finishing the tea, which turned out to be ready. Two steaming cups of it on saucers were set out beside the stove. In his absence, Miho must have prepared them.

Picking them up, he gave one to Bakura and kept one for himself, sitting down on a chair that had appeared at the other's bedside. This time he murmured a soft word of thanks to the empty air, unsure if spirits could hear or understand him, but feeling that such thoughtful gestures deserved something grateful in return.

"Téa of Windsor brings word that Seto is gathering his forces," he murmured conversationally, deciding for now to avoid the subject of his second-in-command and his current predicament. "She brought word of it with her upon her visit for breakfast. Mako has noticed more activity by him on the seas as well. His men grow weary of dealing with Seto and will probably join our side."

"Why is that? Sailors' superstition?" Bakura asked, though otherwise did not comment. He thankfully rested his voice and finished his meal, meager as it was. His tea went untouched for a bit, however, the knight simply gripping the container in both hands, presumably to warm them, and then taking enough sips to finish it off.

The prince continued to fill him in in the meantime, talking about the various topics breached over the early meal, to the troops and how they were in good hands.

Bakura nearly choked on his drink at the news that Joseph was in charge of them in his absence, asking if Yami had gone mad, but he simply poured the other more tea and said, "Someone has to oversee them while you are bedridden, and I don't expect him to leave the position until I deem you well. So if you want to see him step down, I strongly suggest you sleep and get better."

"I _am_ well-!"

"By suggest, I mean I order you to remain here."

Scowling, Bakura chugged down the rest of his second helping of tea, as if keeping himself from saying a thing or two he would soon regret. Yami smiled despite such impertinence and gently gripped him by the shoulder, guiding him back against the pillows.

"Rest and I will bring you food later," he murmured, getting up and setting the teacups aside.

Reaching into a breast pocket, he removed the card he had picked up by the door and placed it in Bakura's hand.

"And next time, ask your summons to let me pass without a fuss. Their reactions to my appearance almost lead me to believe they don't like me."

"They let your through at all, did they not? That's all the liking you'll get out of them," Bakura drawled, rolling over and going to sleep as instructed. Yami accepted it as the dismissive gesture it was, and quietly took his leave.

* * *

This continued for two days, Yami making periodic visits while Bakura became progressively worse. He'd developed a harsh cough that would wrack his entire body, his fever hadn't broken and, though he attempted to conceal the evidence, a tremor had taken over his hands. The prince was unsure if it was due to chills or his sapped strength, but in either case it was interfering with his ability to complete everyday, simple tasks, like gripping or picking up objects.

The worsening of his condition was reason for concern, and his worry led him to consult the healers on the side as to what it may be or what could help alleviate the pain, along with how much he would have to bribe said healers to examine his second-in-command. There was the matter of _convincing_ Bakura to go, too, and he was loathing outright ordering him. While he would for the man's own health, it was uncomfortable and risky to be out of the other's good graces, even for a short duration.

Breaching the subject couldn't hurt, or so he reasoned as he returned to the lowest level of the castle carrying the ingredients for soup. The meal would not survive the journey were he to take a prepared batch, and he wouldn't dream of asking anyone else to do this for him. The only souls brave enough were not anyone the other would be willing to see, and vice versa. Thus, it was up to him.

When he arrived, the door was on heavier guard than usual – so much so that it took him a moment to discover the answer to the magic puzzle presented to him. Like a Russian nesting doll, the spells were stacked inside each other, making four in total. To undo them, he had to find the biggest of the chain, break it, and repeat the sequence three more times.

It was physically draining to complete in such quick succession, and he decided that he would have to have a word with Bakura on the matter. He lived in the bowels of a _fortress_ – it was secure without such taxing and redundant systems. Only Bakura would consider making his home-away-from-home in an environment such as this and see fit to make it a greater challenge.

He _would_ have told him this, if the other was present. The origins of the added security quickly became clear as Yami noticed his second-in-command's complete absence, the forest from before culled to a handful of creatures. A Man-Eater Plant, the closest to the door, yawned widely to flash its sharp teeth before resting its otherwise featureless head on the floor, and an Arlownay tittered at seeing him enter to an empty room.

She stopped, cowering with the other remaining monsters as Yami made a fist and demanded, "_Where_ _is he?_"

Furious, he didn't try to hold back his aura, letting it lash out like a solid wave. It frightened one or two of the weaker summons, the weed-like creatures disappearing into the ground like burrowing animals to go into hiding, and none of them gave him a response. Those under Bakura's command were trained to be unrelenting in the field of battle, pitted against the worst odds and could adapt to multiple circumstances, but they were also chosen for their intelligence – they knew this was not something they could win against.

Breathing slowly out his nose, Yami pinched its bridge as he got himself back under control. It wasn't fair of him to put the monsters under such conditions; they couldn't read minds, and even if they could, Bakura would have taken precautions to prevent them from doing so. No doubt they hadn't a clue of his whereabouts, and demanding answers was a waste of time, especially since they had no way of defending themselves. Hurting or destroying one would backlash on their master, and that was the last thing he needed done.

Exiting the room, he made it out of the sub levels before storming off in search of the other, asking all who crossed his path if they'd seen or heard where Bakura could be. The answer came from his mother, Margaret Mai Beaufort, who was sitting on one of the balconies overlooking the land, enjoying a book in the gentle light that graced that day.

"Henry, darling!" she called, the first to notice each other, and waved him over with her lace fan; his mother had heard him coming long before she'd seen him. Hearing his true name, he paused and saw her, too, and approached her with the same questions he'd been asking of everyone else.

"Oh, him?" his mother asked, saying it as if it were a surprise the answer weren't obvious. "I spotted him going out to the woods earlier this morning, and have not seen him come back. You know him and his infatuations. I wager he'll be out there till nightfall."

Yami did feel foolish for not considering the possibility; the knight didn't practice his gift often, but when he did, it wasn't uncommon for him to be hiking through the forests surrounding a part of the region for days if permitted. Though he didn't understand the appeal himself, he did comprehend that there was much for the other to do about it – recording the species he discovered, gathering specimens, and surveying the scenery. And despite Bakura's reluctance to admit personal details, it was obvious a part of it brought him some semblance of joy.

"You look tense, dear," she noted aloud, tilting her head and setting her novel aside. "Is something the matter?"

"I have to be going, I'm afraid. Bakura is in no condition to be on his own right now."

To his slight chagrin, Mai _laughed_ at his statement, having to lift a hand to cover her lips as the sound became impolitely loud.

"Henry, I'm surprised at you! This is Sir Bakura of Rennes we are speaking of, correct? If anyone can handle themselves, it would be him. I'd trust him at the brink of death to be capable of defending himself, and you know very well I do not hand out compliments lightly – in fact, you tell that brute I said all this and I'll deny it. I think you realize this, too."

"Death might very well be a candidate if he is allowed out of bed as he is for too long."

His mother smirked at him, the sly look reminiscent of the one she used to give his father when he was alive, save for a few subtle differences that made the expression strictly for her son. It was her mother-knows-best face, and she utilized it like a professional.

"You were this pigheaded-"

"Pigheaded?" Yami incredulously asked.

"_Yes_, pigheaded! When Lady Téa insisted on returning to her home – Duke Tristan, too – and look at how those arguments ended. Remember this tidbit I've told you before you start a quarrel with the poor man," she admonished. "The last time you two fought, I was convinced you'd rip one another part and take the castle with you. Try to be civilized; if he really is feeling as you say, then he's not going to be on par. Quite unsporting."

"Anything else?"

His mother gave a very un-lady-like snort at his dismissal, and picked up her novel to begin reading again as she said, "It's difficult to remember that you care so much, but don't think you have this mother fooled. You get that kind of tenacious concern from _my_ side of the family and I'll have you know you have a long way to go.

"And since I know there is no stopping you, please inform Sir Bakura on your meeting that if he drags a speck of mud into this establishment again he will be spit shining the floors himself." These were her parting words as she gave him a precise wave to send him off.

"I should have you tell him yourself," Yami said, though had no intention of letting such a thing happen. It was said partly in jest, and partly in return for the lecture. He politely bowed out and headed straight to the nearby gathering of trees.

* * *

The forest on his estate was, surprisingly, a rather nice bit of land. It wasn't foreboding like the black forests of Germany, or too tightly clustered to be traveled. There was an equal mixture of abundance and mystery, of sun-kissed meadows and towering, green giants. In his younger days, when the times were less complicated, Yami had gone riding with his parents through these very woods, the memories of such tidings shadowing his every step as he recounted the stories behind the boulders, plants, and trails he recalled like the back of his hand.

They did not distract him from his mission, but they steadied his emotions. Rarely did they get away from him to this degree, so when they did, they ran rampant and hot, boiling over like a simmering kettle that spilled due to the contents being overcooked. As mighty as they were, they burnt out at an accelerated rate. He was feeling more merciful than before, and less likely to do something rash.

Hopefully.

His journey brought him to a secluded part of the woods, not in its center, but if he continued on his path it would eventually lead him there. Yami had, in essence, _guessed_ where Bakura might be. The other was impulsive and could be anywhere, so he walked at random in hopes of stumbling across him by chance. His luck proved reliable as he heard rustling near his feet, where a gaping hole the width of one and a half grown men resided.

A clod of dark, moist soil was shoved up and out, and then it was followed by none other than Bakura himself, coated with streaks of mud. He'd worn a cloak over his clothes, but it was useless.

"What, pray tell, _are_ _you doing_?" Yami asked.

"Digging my own grave," he deadpanned, voice scratchy and coming off more snappish than usual. "What does it _look_ like I'm doing?"

"Digging your own grave sounds like an authentic account, considering you could very well catch your death out here. You're soaking wet and filthy."

The knight, around a fit of coughing, said, "If only I were so fortunate. I'm gathering some supplies."

"For what?"

"Family remedy," he answered cryptically, splitting the mound of dirt apart and picking out various insects – mostly worms. Bakura carefully tugged them out, minding not to pull them apart, and placed them in a pouch on his belt. Yami tried not to imagine what their fate would be.

"I could have sent a servant to retrieve these for you, or I would have done it myself if I'd been informed that you required them. A list would have sufficed."

"And sully your hands? A true knight does his own dirty work."

As if to iterate what sort of "dirty work" he was referring to, he finished with his task and rubbed his hands off of what soil he could, but most of it clung to his gloves and colored them a brown so dark it was almost black. The mud made what little of Bakura's skin was visible show a pallor that was translucent, and while he was normally one shade off from sickly pale, this proved that even he had a limit.

"Are you finished?"

"Almost," Bakura said, un-pocketing a knife and approaching a sapling. He whittled away the leaves one by one, and when there wasn't a splash of green left on it, he wrenched the twig that was left out of the ground and repeated the process with the roots.

"You should return to the castle."

"Is that another one of your 'suggestions'?"

"If it has to be."

The knight growled, the sound watered down thanks to his cold, but it was no less threatening. He shoved his blade back into a pocket and carried the sapling under an arm.

"I find it vastly ironic that you feel the need to kill your allies with _kindness_ and not save such conduct for your enemies, for it's quite effective in replacing torture," were the other's parting words as he stomped past, grudgingly intent on returning to the castle.

Yami went back at a more leisurely pace, muddy footprints and his mother distastefully looking down at them greeting him upon his arrival.

"I told you so," was the first thing out of her mouth, eyes not wavering from the sight of her dirtied floor. "And wipe your feet. I didn't raise you to be a barbarian."

For once, he did as he was told.

* * *

Yami gave it some time before broaching Bakura's personal domain again. He wasn't disillusioned that, given proper space and privacy, his second-in-command would calm. Unlike him, the knight could hold a grudge to outlive the two of them until the end of their days, with a temper to match, and over the smallest of grievances. No, it was more to allow the prince a way to come up with an apology than anything else.

He forewent his evening meal to handle the situation himself, and instead of barging inside as he had in the past, he politely knocked with his knuckles to request entrance. And he waited. To his surprise, he did not have to for very long, the door creaking open.

Stepping inside to behold a similar amount of monsters as his earlier visits – perhaps a tad fewer – was a good indicator of the other's condition. It was good in that he was conserving his energy, but also bad, for Bakura holding back meant he was in serious condition. Ten lit candles were all there was to light the expansive room, letting Yami pick out exactly what monsters were left to glower and sulk in his direction. He spotted Bakura hovering around one of his tables.

Making his approach known, he stood opposite of Bakura and took in his work. Several bowls with ground ingredients were set in a row, earth-toned and smelling of mildew. In a pot he was adding natural components – herbs, spices…and insects. Yami had at first thought the worms floating above the concoction's surface were noodles. As Bakura reached for something out of reach, the object floated and slammed down closer by, sloshing its dark purple contents around to nearly spilling. Apparently, Miho was upset with the knight, too.

Ignoring the show of irritation, and Yami's presence as well, his second-in-command added that and all of the dry ingredients into his pot. When the last of it was included, a puff of red and black mixed smoke trickled over the sides and it bubbled for a minute before dying down.

"Very well," Yami started, "I'll concede. What is that?"

The other's jaw clenched.

"Dinner, your _royal highness._"

With all his might, the prince resisted cringing – both because of the other's tone and because the idea of eating what the other had made caused his appetite to wane. When Bakura scooped the brew into a dish, making a show of swirling a fork around the worms like spaghetti and sucking at the broth, it took an ounce more of restraint to keep from turning a shade of unbecoming green.

"There's…chicken soup, if you're interested in a substitute."

"I'm not."

"Are you positive?" he strained, hesitantly taking a seat. If he were to turn and leave, such a retreat would mimic weakness, and so he remained across from the other man. Said other man who was making a grand show of slurping at his meal, as if he were starving.

"_Yes._ I will be cured by morning, and ready to resume training the troops. Provided I meet your 'standards.'"

The contempt remained, lacing every syllable. A lesser man would have cowered at it; a person a step up from that might have felt fear. But in Yami's case, it had him narrow his eyes and bristle.

"We shall see."

Lips curling back in preparation for a fierce rebuttal, an interruption in the form of Bakura's cherished bastard sword flying through the air and cutting clean through the table cut him off, and consequently the argument that had no doubt been about to begin. The tip had landed in the center, directly between the two of them, and it stopped only because the hilt had gotten caught.

A drawn out moment later, Bakura huffed, "I do believe Miho has issued a warning."

"I concur," the prince agreed, staring at the sword. "I think it would be in our best interests to keep things civil."

"And how do you propose we do that? My arsenal only consists of observations about which side of the family your temper comes from, as indicated by-"

A knife struck the table, embedding itself closer to the knight's side than Yami's.

"I retract my statement. Courteously."

He couldn't help it – Yami _laughed._ The absurdness of the situation, coupled with the forced "apology" from his second-in-command, struck something in him that appeared soon after in the form of laughter. A petulant expression was fixed on Bakura's face, yet it faltered at the sounds of Yami's amusement, and ended by mirroring his own pleased look, though not nearly as open.

"I had forgotten you were capable of such a feat."

Were his tone not serious, Yami might have taken it as another jibe.

"There has been little to be happy about," he admitted.

"Perhaps," Bakura conceded, and set down his food. "But realize that your happiness gives many of us meaning, and without it, our purpose becomes lost."

In an atypical demonstration of intimacy, Bakura reached across the table with a hand to touch the right side of his face, as if to pull his expression into that of a smile. But before he could make contact, Yami intercepted and caught his hand with one of his own. The knight's was boiling, past the layers of thick skinned calluses. Bakura didn't snatch his hand back – instead, he realigned them, life lines touching and fingers twining.

"I really must be ill," Bakura confessed, promptly ruining the moment.

But Yami didn't let go.

"At last, the mighty spirit admits to the obvious," the prince said, not talking about his deceased aunt.

Bakura smirked, understanding the humor perfectly.

He would have liked nothing better than to remain like that, but time was still moving forward and such a commodity was too precious to waste. And if Bakura truly was on his way to recovery as he claimed, then he would still need his rest.

"I apologize for my hovering as of late. I'll refrain from doing such in the future."

His second-in-command held firm and wouldn't allow them to pull apart as Yami shifted to do so.

"While I won't complain, I must confess I'm curious to the meaning behind your actions. Even for a sensitive fellow like you, this degree of concern is a bit _overkill._"

A butcher knife hovered dangerously and Bakura sharply turned his head in its direction to snap, "Cease with that infernal act of intimidation! 'Overkill' is a perfect adjective to describe the situation, as you are well aware."

The weapon dropped right where it was floating with an air akin to someone sulking. Yami shook his head and stood, taking the chance to disregard the other's question and escape.

"If you're sincere about returning to duty, be sure to attend breakfast tomorrow. Dining is entirely too dull without you."

"I shall," Bakura confirmed, an edge of finality removing any doubt.

* * *

As promised, Bakura of Rennes made his entrance on the dot at the scheduled time for the next morning meal, dressed in full body armor and carrying his sword. He had obviously found time to shine it as well, the red metal so pristine that it reflected the tiniest of lights. If his appearance wasn't enough to grab one's attention, the boisterous way in which he carried himself would catch the ears of those who had become accustomed to peace and quiet.

Joseph choked on his food, having been stuffing his face as he was wont to do, and just so happened to look up and spot the other as he was swallowing. Tristan had to whack him on the back, _hard_, to dislodge the piece, and once his air passages were open the blond groaned in dismay.

"We'd thought you'd died."

Téa, eyes widening in shock at her friend's nasty comment, promptly kicked him under the table. She must have connected with a particularly sensitive spot, because Joseph yelped and jumped in his seat to the point of nearly tilting it backwards.

"What I think he _meant_ to say, Sir Bakura, is that we noted your absence and are pleased to see your return," she stated through clenched teeth, glaring all the while across the table at Joseph and daring him to contradict her. Wisely, he didn't, and he tried to discretely massage his ankle.

"I'd thank everyone for the sentiments, but I'm no happier to be back amongst the slobs the Lancasters call their close associates than I'm sure they are to be with me," he stated bluntly.

No one had anything polite to say to that, and thus refrained from commenting at all, though more than a few dark looks were tossed in Bakura's direction. He'd taken up residence in his usual seat, the one to Yami's immediate right, which had gone untouched while the knight was feeling under the weather. No one had felt daring enough to risk usurping the chair, Joseph in particular swearing it would curse anyone who dared take it.

Immediately after, Yami's mother came bustling in, all frills, perfume, and gossip. She was in the middle of talking to a servant when she stopped in her tracks, turning her nose up and snapping her fan shut in one hand to grip it tightly.

"I thought I smelled something lifeless," she announced to the room at large, resuming her trek after the announcement, and sitting down to Yami's left. Instantly, she was served breakfast, servants hurrying to accommodate her every whim.

Joseph, still in that tone of despair, muttered, "If only," to her comment, and earned another sharp kick for his efforts.

"I made sure to hone my scent specifically for your delicate sensibilities, your majesty. The pleasure of entering your presence deserves nothing less than the best I have to offer," Bakura stated, not missing a beat.

Mai, lip twitching into a smirk that was easy to miss, retaliated with, "And I suppose your return marks the end of my solitude. I'll no doubt have to move to a secluded room with thick walls or risk putting up with that racket you refer to as drills_._"

"I would never dream of _intentionally_ disrupting your relaxation period, mind..."

She nodded, as if reacting to an entirely different conversation, and began to consume her meal. The banter continued for a time after that, the current residents giving as good as they got, and those who arrived later shared their own thoughts. Inevitably talk moved onto different topics, mainly in the political range.

Through it all, Yami remained entirely silent, idly sipping at his drink and eating, and not tasting any of it. He paid attention to the mannerisms around the table instead, his keen eye always returning to his second-in-command in particular. When not speaking, he was reserved and poised, and when he was, he demanded nothing but everyone's absolute attention, getting it with direct methods. He used his utensils with a perfectly steady hand and was quick to fend off Joseph from getting the last loaf of bread on the table. Truly, there wasn't a single sign remaining to indicate he had been sick.

At one point, the knight caught him in the act of observing him. Bakura smirked at him knowingly and waited, and was rewarded with a nod of consent from Yami. He was indeed well, and had passed. It was a relief to both of them, the prince not having realized how tense he'd been until it came time for him to no longer worry. The castle suddenly became a much brighter place.

-Fin-


End file.
